


Paradise

by VasaliaTheWise



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: A creep at the Beginning, Angst, Balinese Dancing, F/M, Fake Dating, Fluff, Ice Cream, Love, My kitty is on my lap as I'm typing this, Temples, Vacation, age gap, bali, but they won't admit it, for a little bit - Freeform, the beach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VasaliaTheWise/pseuds/VasaliaTheWise
Summary: Your travels to Bali makes you cross paths with an older man who’s sweet, funny, and cute. Hmmm, he sure does look familiar though. Doesn’t he play in a band? Which one? Oh no…
Relationships: John Deacon/ fem!Reader, John Deacon/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Paradise

Having a ring on the fourth finger of his right hand didn’t stop him from telling you how he wanted you to suck his dick after one drink.

You had managed to get away from everything. Bali was supposed to be a paradise. It was supposed to be safe, especially for women traveling alone.

“Want the honor? There’s a bathroom in the back and drinks ain’t cheap” he urged. His tan showed he was here for a while. Maybe you weren’t his first victim.

“I’ll tell you what I’m not doing, harassing girls with a wife at home” you spit back.

Turns out, perverts are universal.

“I bought you a drink!” he asserted.

“You’ve been pestering me for a drink since yesterday. Now you bought me one, leave me alone… my boyfriend would get mad at me.” You lie through gritted teeth.

“I don’t see any boyfriend!” he threatened.

“My love, how are you doing!” a voice revealed suddenly. The man’s grubby face went pale and yours turned scarlet to see a handsome stranger suddenly walking to you on cue.

You turn and see a tall man with a pale, beautiful face with fluffy reddish-brown hair and two long, toned arms hugging you. Once you put your head up, you tell by this man’s slight smirk and his raised eyebrows to play along.

“That plane delay took forever! I’ve missed you!” you coo, throwing in an excuse. He begins letting an arm remain on the small of your back.

He winks at you before picking you up in a hug and spinning you around before landing you and giving you a short kiss on the cheek.

When you looked back, the pervert had bolted away like lightning.

“Thanks so much, you saved me there” you whispered carefully.

“I couldn’t stand by and let anyone be treated like that” he explained.

Eyeing the martini you had started, you remembered that it would probably taste better in a more comfortable company.

“Wanna drink with me? He may come again and we’ll have to keep it up,” you offer.

He hesitated a bit, then sat next to you. “Sure” he babbled “Besides, look-!”

He pointed to the center of the pool area where a group of Balinese dancers begin to take their places and the musicians warm up their instruments.

At the first drink, you notice they are all women. The musicians wear sparkling blue robes and gold headpieces that bobble when they blow their flutes or tap the drums on their laps. The dancers are just as exquisite, with long dark hair pulled back and gold robes with gold scarves that open up when they move their strong arms. They move robotically, yet with such expression, you feel your own head turn with theirs.

“I know I forgot to say it, but I’m John, John Deacon” he hisses in, after the first dance.

You give him your own name and buy him his first drink before the next dance begins.

After the third drink with John, you were both laughing until you were in tears. The dancers and musicians had long since bowed in thanks and left.

“Wait…tell me…what’s your name again? I’m soooo bad with names, I swear” you hooted, your ears still ringing from the loudness of the music.

“I’m John…John Deacon…” he told you.

“Huh, John…” you mumbled, finishing the last burning sip of your shot.

“You haven’t…heard of me?” John assured, just breaking open his beer bottle.

“What? No! Have you heard of me?” you yowled, his scrunching face looking a little blurry.

“Well, I haven’t heard of you either!”

“But now you know me, so how does that work? John, you’re going to make me mad, I swear!” you say, giggling.

He just laughed a lot and smiled quietly at your ramblings. He bought a bag of pretzels to keep you satiated and fight off further drunkenness while he led your hand, helping you wobble up to your room.

“This is your room? Bloody Christ, I’m next door!” he says, pointing at the door to your right.

“Well, G’night neighbor!” you exclaim, mimicking his voice and swinging the door shut.

A headache and nausea awake you at noon. Barely turning your head around, you notice there is a bag of pretzels still crumpled in your fist.

Crap, I didn’t even say thank you, you think.

You walk over and knock on his door. He looks at you wide-eyed. You feel yourself turning pink and biting your lips.

Something about the ways his brown eyes glaze over your makes you think maybe a simple thanks doesn’t feel enough.

“Uhm…I just wanted to say thank you and uhm….do you like the temples here?” you ask. “I don’t wanna go alone.”

The Pura Taman Saraswati temple is prettier than in the pictures. The bus ride seemed to last only minutes since you both talked the entire time while gazing at the large trees and dusty roads. Stepping off of the blue bus, you turn your head and realize John brought a camera with him that hangs around his neck. It swings across his yellow t-shirt and in rhythm with his long legs dangling from his red shorts.

The tall, ancient building shines despite the brown color of the building, probably of age. The pool of water is almost pale blue like the faint blue color one sees hinted in a mirror. Only here it has space all to itself. Except for the lotuses of course. They stay as still as large green patches on a blue jacket. The sky is full of puffy white clouds and the sun hides and emerges again.

Walking around next to John, it never felt awkward or uncomfortable. Tourists hurry by to merely glance and take a thousand snapshots before rushing in on sandaled feet.

You and John linger, taking everything in once a breeze passes by.

Click!

You blink and turn around to see his camera has gotten quite close to you.

“John! Please!” you laugh, teasingly. “I’m not good at close-ups!”

“Gotcha!” John says teasingly, he looks at your and gives a silly smile with his tongue halfway up and you can’t frown at the sight.

He then notices how the photo edges out with a whirring sound. It seems pure black but then the photo begins to turn a little white and shapes make their way inside. You see yourself- your face staring eyed into the camera. It seems as if you are half in the world of that surprise but there’s relaxation to your slight smile that you are still in the beautiful world the temple had to offer. Still the temple and it’s ancient, twisting trees frame the world behind you and yet you seem to both belong and shine above it.

John studied it with one hand looking down and one scratching the slight stubble on his chin.

“I never took a prank candid this…this…” he begins thoughtfully.

“This nice” you finish.

This beautiful, you silently admit…and wish you could hear him admit too.

You spend so much time together for the next two days in the green trees and under the yellow Bali sun that by the second evening, you are both worn out. John yawns as he makes his way to his room, his face hot pink.

“I swear, I could go to bed now!” he says.

“Grandpa, go ahead,” you prod he winks in return before closing the door.

You plop on your bed, sighing at the soft, white sheets freshly cleaned from the hotel laundry. You reach for the tv remote next to you and turn on the television in your room. But news in Balinese doesn’t interest you in the slightest, so you start to go through a good channel for some background noise. The magazine you got on the plane is at your side and only halfway done.

Twelve channels in, you recognize the giant M of MTV and decide mindless music videos are perfect. You begin to flip through pictures of smiling women in tight jeans while tapping your foot to the first video they start playing.

“Here we stand, or here we fall!

History won’t mind at all!”

You caught yourself doing the reverse, getting more into the music and only mindlessly looking at pictures of girls with blue eyeshadow in the magazine.

That’s catchy. Who was that group that played it again?

You flip one page to an advertisement for Impalas and glance back up.

Oh yeah, the one with the singer with a mustache.

You peek at the video again out of curiosity when you see him. He’s not in his bright shirts and shorts, but a white shirt tantalizingly unbuttoned to reveal chest hair, his large, gentle fingers plucking away at the bass as he swings.

No…no way…it’s just my eyes

But your jaw drops when your face notices his face. The puffy hair cannot lie.

You run over and knock on his door in a hurry.

Rubbing the sand out of his eyes, John can barely yawn a “hello” from his nap when you run in.

“You’re in that band!” you blurt.

John turned a little pale then red. Then he sighed and nodded.

“Yes, I’m the bassist of Queen but…shhh! Shhhh!” he hushes nervously, even though no prying eyes are there in his hotel room.

“Aren’t you in trouble?” you ask, tilting your head.

He gives you a cheeky smile with crinkling eyes.

“Not yet. Even if I am, I don’t care” he answers. “But…please do not tell anyone. I’ll…I’ll get you an ice cream. There’s a station on the beach.”

“Ice cream? John Deacon, you are a master briber” you prod, walking out and him following.

“Let’s say I learned from someone who likes temples and modeling!” he retorted, opening the door and gesturing out with a wicked grin.

Walking out, the soft salty breeze was beckoning you over. The sun was hot on everyone’s skin and you could almost smell the tan lotion from a few steps away. Tourists crowded on dirty towels with big straw hats, puny bikinis, and swimming trunks in loud, garish florals. Seagulls flock around in packs looking greedily for crumbs with deceivingly pitiful croaks.

You and John noticed the ice cream station in a little building. It is small, rackety, and mint green but the little chalkboard propping on the station featuring chalk drawings of sheep boast ice cream made from the milk of the creatures.

“I’d like Strawberry, please,” you plead with a nudge on his shoulder.

John nods. A family of two sunburnt parents and a pair of small twin girls have taken over the nearest seat to devour their cones and run in circles. Once John is in the shadow of the window, you can barely hear him ordering over the girls giggling and shouting and the parent’s orders to sit still. John hands over the money in cash to get you three scoops of Strawberry sheep-made ice cream. He merely has a single scoop of chocolate. At that point, the father sighs and scoops up both girls under his arms with giggles to walk to the sea as the mother sighs in relief.

You gesture over to the free bench to sit. John agrees and nearly plops down hard enough to sink the bench into the sand.

“I…I had to get away…” he explained, he took a nibble of the chocolate.

“You wanted to quit?” you asked. The Strawberry flavor tastes so fresh it’s like biting into the berry itself. The sheep milk made it creamier, too. 

“No! It’s just I’ve…I’ve been so…stressed. And the band is a lot of the reason. And everyone was just…arguing…” he confessed.

“You don’t like them?” you murmured.

Looking around, tourists were either playing, swimming, or sleeping in the sun. None seemed interested in the two of you.

“I love them all! They’re like my brothers. But all this bickering was going back and forth this one night when we were recording for our next album. I had barely slept, and we couldn’t even record one song without one person complaining so…I went here. Just for the peace…” he lamented.

A breeze picks up and his hair moves with it. He begins to take another bite, savoring the rich flavor.

“Please don’t tell…” he begged, looking in your eyes.

“Of course not, John. Listen, I get it. Where I came from everything was just…so much. Too much to do. Too much stress. I had to escape too. So, I managed to get all this money, and I always wanted to go to Bali so…I went there.” You told him.

At the sound of his name, he immediately smiles, and his eyes crinkle a little. No one on the beach seems to care to listen to you both. But that’s a miracle. You ask him all your questions about life in Queen and John obliges, adding in so many stories that make you tempted to laugh so hard you can feel the ice cream go through your nostrils.

“In the cupboard!” you cackled.

“Yup! He was that mad! It was about an hour before Fred changed his mind! And Rog climbed out with his nose up like he was king of England!” John added, imitating with his own lovely profile aimed up at the clouds.

You cough down your last bite and you both begin laughing so hard your stomach hurts. You both pause, and gaze at each other. At this point, the sun has set and the sky has turned pink. The wind feels a little cooler and the dipping sunshine glows on his face. He looks down and finishes his ice cream, but a bit of the cold soup of the dessert is barely dribbled on his chin.

You take your napkin, never taking your eyes off of his, and wipe it off his mouth.

Instinctively he leans in and you can feel his breath on his lips. Your pulse freezes.

At once, John stops, gets up and walks away.

“John, John!” you cry, rushing after him.

A white wooden bridge fills the gap between the hotel and the beach. Before he can close it, you jog up and grab his arm.

“John, what is it?”

He turns around to look at you with a wide frown.

“I’m old! At least, for you!” he argued.

“How old are you?” you scolded, hands going to your hips.

“Thirty-four” he sputtered, turning a little pink and not just from the sun.

“I’m twenty-five, only nine years! You’d be my cousin, not like my grandad!” you reasoned.

“But, Y/N…it’s just…. You know how it is with rock stars and young girls! I don’t know if it’s right!” he fretted. His shoulders raise up in stress.

“Are you seeing anyone?” you snapped. He never wore a ring on either hand, but the image of some smiling, pretty groupie batting eyelashes thick with too much mascara next to him made you sick.

“No, but…you’ll struggle to keep up with me,” he said flatly.

“You’ve been keeping up with me perfectly well!”

“We can’t do this! I don’t want you to think I’m a…a pervert! Like that other man!”

“Why would I think that? You’re the one who saved me from him!” you cried.

“Just go, please!” he orders, you see him blinking fast.

Punching your chest, you feel a small cry escape from you from shock. Your face contorts and you begin crying. He walks forward, but you push him away and dart into the hotel. Keeping your face down, you pray not a single staff member notices how wet and contorted your face is to offer sympathy.

Breathing in the last of the salt air in your lungs, you head inside your room quickly. You order the most expensive, indulgent meal on room service plus a whole bottle of wine.

Well, that’s the breakup drink, isn’t it? you think as you uncap it with the tools from the kitchen in your room and toss the top into the bin.

But…was it a breakup? That’s for when you’re dating…but we aren’t dating, weren’t we?

You swallow the rich food in two bites and are on your second glass of wine, downing it as if parched. You feel a bit dizzy. Not as bad as when John picked you up and spun you when he just met you though… You feel a wave of hot tears fall down your cheeks again. Gluttony had numbed your rejection, but it hasn’t solved it.

The brief dry aftertaste of the second glass has hit your tongue when you hear a brief knock on the door.

Fumbling for your wallet with the cash in your jeans pocket, you stumble over to the front door and open.

“I thought I already paid y…” you start only to pause.

John is standing right there.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Stepping aside, you widen the door and he hurries in. Once you close it and turn to him you feel his soft hand take your shoulders.

“I’m so sorry. I was a dickhead. I wasn’t thinking straight and I was…I’m just scared. How have I hurt you? I’ll make up for it, I swear” he promises.

You shake your head.

“I shouldn’t have run off without talking. We were both irrational, there’s nothing to forgive, John,” you say.

After a pause, you hug him tight and he hugs back. You both sway a little, melting into each other.

“Can…can I kiss you?” he asks.

Without hesitation, you crash your lips on his. And you feel his warm lips kiss back.

It was the first of a thousand kisses that first night.


End file.
